TEDDY SLEEPER DINES OUT.
Just before the breaking out of the fire in the paper mill Teddy
Sleeper, sat on the door step awaiting the return of his sister. He
was particularly uneasy on this occasion, having had a long spell of
fishing with no luck, “not even a bite” and was very impatient at the
delay in obtaining a “bite” at home, it being the invariable rule
there, to wait for Becky. Teddy under the wise rule of his sister
had lost much of his gaukiness and rough speech but had lost none
of his rotundity of form and cool, phlegmatic disposition. With him
everything was taken as a matter of course. Nothing ever surprised him
into expressions of wonder, and seldom did he lose his temper. The
sole disturber of his peace was hunger--the foe that has successfully
assailed the good disposition of many wise and great men. Under its
attacks Teddy grew restless and disorderly. He was in a fair way to
do something rash, when his keen eye discovered smoke rolling up over
the paper mill, and the cry of “Fire! fire! fire!” faintly reached his
ears. He rolled off the step, took a long look in the direction of the
smoke, then started down the hill. Reaching the church, he saw Phil
Hague standing before the captain’s house, shading his eyes and looking
up the road. People were hurrying toward the fire.
“Phil, Phil, it’s the paper mill!”
“Is that so? Bedad, its foine kindlings they have there for a blaze.”
“Come on. Let’s get out the ingine.”
“What for, I dunno?” said Phil, scratching his head.
“To put out the fire. Here, Jackson, the ingine. Hold on, Smith, help
run her up. Come on, Phil.”
Teddy run to the engine house, followed by Phil, and Smith and Jackson,
who were on their way to the fire.
The engine was kept next door to the church. It was a heavy,
old-fashioned affair, not much larger than a good-sized wash-tub, had
not been moved for years, and it was very doubtful if it could be made
to work. Of this Teddy took no thought. There was a fire, and the first
thing to be done was to have it on the spot. So they pulled it out and
started down the hill as fast as they could run. Not being experienced
firemen, they did not use any “hold-back” measures, and the consequence
was, half way down the hill they found the “ingine” close upon their
heels, and themselves in danger of being crushed. With one accord they
dropped the rope, and sprang to the sides of the road. “Cataract”--this
was the name by which the extinguisher was known--being deserted by its
leaders, went thundering down the hill and tipped over at the bottom.
“By my sowl,” said Phil Hague, “that’s a quare way of putting out a
fire. The contrary divil’s laid down for a nap.”
“Come on, it ain’t hurt; let’s set it up and lug it up the hill,” said
Teddy hurrying to the prostrate Cataract.
They managed to get it upon its wheels again, tugged up the hill with
their heavy burden, and at last reached the fire. A hose was laid
and the engine manned, but the rusty machine refused to work. All this
time Teddy had been sweating and hurrying to get it in operation. It
was a sore disappointment to him after all his trouble.
Mark Small came along at that moment.
“It’s no use, boys, there’s been no washers on them pumps this five
years.”
There was a laugh from the crowd and Teddy turned away with a very red
face.
“The best engine in the world would be of no use now. She’s got to
burn,” said Small, looking at his buildings, now enveloped in flames.
“Much obliged to you, Teddy, all the same. Tell you what you can do.
There’s little York frightened most to death. Becky got her out just in
time. Just you take my team and get her home. That’s a good fellow.”
Teddy followed the direction of Small’s pointing finger, and saw Jenny
York crouching on the ground beside Becky. In a moment he was beside
the girls.
“Hello, girls, had a narrow squeak of it. Say, Becky, Small says you
got her out. Is that so?”
“Yes, I did, Teddy. Ain’t you glad?” said Becky.
“Glad; you bet I am. Bully for you. Hurrah for Becky Sleeper.”
The crowd took up the shout, and Becky received an ovation. Just then
Small drove up in his wagon.
“Come, Teddy, get the girls home, quick.”
He leaped from his seat and took Jenny in his arms and placed her in
the wagon.
“There’s room for you, too, Becky. Jump in. God bless you, girl. It’s
hard to lose all I have in the world, but it would have been harder to
bear had there been a life lost.”
Becky climbed into the wagon followed by Teddy who took up the reins
and drove away. As they moved off the excited crowd, who had witnessed
Becky’s valor, shouted until Becky was out of sight, “Hurrah, hurrah,
hurrah!” As they flew down the road Jenny poured into the ears of Teddy
Sleeper the exciting narrative of the escape.
“That’s just like her, Jenny. Hi, lively, Spotty. She’s a bouncer, I
tell you. And she’s my sister. Ain’t I proud of her? Oh, no--get up,
Spotty,” cried Teddy, at the conclusion of the narrative. “And I lugged
that plaguy old ingine up all for nothing. She does all the brave
things, and I ain’t no account. Don’t care, she’s my sister. Hi, there,
Spotty, what are ye about? She’s my sister.”
Spotty was the name of Small’s horse--an explanation rather necessary,
in view of the manner in which Teddy mixed his sentences.
Having safely deposited his sister at home, Teddy drove on to Jenny’s
house. Mrs. York was surprised at the appearance of Jenny in the middle
of the day. The family had heard nothing about the fire, and were about
sitting down to dinner when Teddy arrived with his charge.
“Bless the child, where did you come from? What’s the matter?” cried
Mrs. York, appearing in the doorway, as Teddy carefully deposited Jenny
on the step.
“Been a fire! Mill’s gone--clean gone!” said Teddy. “So I brought Jenny
home.”
“Mill’s burned? Sakes alive! How on earth did you get out? Do you hear
that, father? Mill’s gone--clean gone.”
“I got out because Becky Sleeper saved me, mother,” said Jenny,
quietly, as she took her mother’s hand to get into the house. “Had it
not been for her you’d have had no crippled daughter to care for more.”
“My gracious! you don’t mean it,” cried Mrs. York, hastily closing the
door, regardless of Teddy standing outside. Teddy turned away with
a disappointed air. The grateful incense of a boiled dinner had been
wafted to his hungry spirit, through the open door. He remembered the
time, when on a charitable mission, that same door had been closed
to him, and thought that if a little charity should be extended to
him from the other side, hungry as he was he could not refuse it.
He climbed to his seat, took up the reins, and was on the point of
starting off when the door opened again.
“Here, Teddy, Teddy Sleeper, don’t go yet.” It was the voice of Mrs.
York. “You mustn’t mind my shuttin’ the door. I’m so flurried to think
that our Jenny’s come so near never comin’ home again. Come in and have
some dinner. We ain’t got much, but what we have is good, for I cooked
it myself. Don’t be bashful. Come in, and welcome.”
Teddy stopped not for further invitation, but quickly fastened Spotty
and entered the house. The table was spread in the middle of the room,
its centre embellished with a huge platter in which reposed a smoking
piece of corned-beef, almost hidden by the surrounding accompaniment
of turnips, carrots, parsnips, cabbage and potatoes. Near it was an
enormous dish of squash. There was a plate of brown bread, another of
white, a castor, a huge coffee pot, cups and saucers, plates, knives
and forks. Teddy took it all in at a glance. There was enough for all,
he should not be robbing the poor if he helped to dispose of the feast.
Yet the supply of squash so far exceeded the usual provision made for
such an occasion that he could not keep his eyes from it.
“Father” York who was on the lounge, when he entered raised his eyes
and said “How do you do?” in a very weak voice.
“Come, father, dinner’s all on the table.”
“Father” rose quickly, and took his place at the foot of the table.
Mrs. York motioned Teddy to a seat next him. Jenny took her place, and
the two younger Yorks, about four and six years old scrambled to their
places.
“Why, where’s Johnny?” said Mrs. York, about to do the honors at the
head of the table.
“Oh, he’ll be here afore we get through, I guess,” said father York,
“he never loses a meal.”
There was a scrambling at the back door, it flew open, and Johnny York
made his appearance. He was about eleven years old. A redheaded,
freckled-faced boy, with eyes like a sculpin. With much haste he tossed
his hat on the lounge, dragged a chair across the floor, jumped into
his seat, and fastened his eyes upon the dish of squash.
“Squash!” he ejaculated, lifting his plate.
“Wait, sonny, wait; don’t you see we have company,” said Mrs. York.
Johnny looked round the table, saw Teddy, grinned, then fastened his
eyes on his favorite dish.
Mrs. York helped Teddy and Jenny and then looked at Johnny.
“Squash,” answered Johnny to the look.
Into his plate Mrs. York heaped the yellow vegetable in such profusion
that Teddy stared. The youngster seemed not a bit discouraged by the
supply but attacked it at once. The two smaller children were also
helped from the same dish, paying no attention to the contents of the
principal platter. With a great many groans Mr. York supplied his own
plate bountifully, and set to work like a man ravenously hungry. Teddy
kept him company--he had fasted long and he was tempted by a favorite
dinner.
“Teddy,” said Mrs. York, “we can never be grateful enough to that dear
sister of yours, and only think, we turned her away from our doors.”
“Yes,” sighed Mr. York, “and refused her bounty. It was cruel, and if
ever there was a thing a poor sick man hankered for, it was what she
brought.”
“Squash!” burst out Johnny, raising his empty plate.
Teddy stopped eating and looked at Johnny. The boy’s eyes stood out
hungrier than ever. Mrs. York quietly refilled his plate.
“Oh, she’s the dearest girl, mother, you ever saw. If you’d only seen
her in the loft,” said Jenny, “tugging away at that great ladder, and
then carrying me up in her arms, and so gay about it, as though she
did it every day. I was frightened almost to death, but when I saw how
calm she was, it made me quiet. I thought if I must die, it would not
be alone. And then I thought that was selfish and wanted her to go and
leave me to my fate. Oh, mother, it was a happy day for me when she
came to the mill.”
“It was a happy day for us all, Jenny,” said Mrs. York. “What should
we do without our singing Jenny? Have some more beef, Teddy. I declare
you’re not eating anything.”
Teddy looked up to see if she was not making fun of him for he had
already made away with two generous supplies. But, no, there was no fun
in her eye, and he passed his plate.
“Yes,” sighed Mr. York, “we have much to be grateful for. Poor health
is an awful pullback to a man who’s willin’ to do all he can, but to
lose children after they’ve begun to earn something, is a special
dispensation of Providence that goes agin’ the grain. I always told
Small that mill of his would end in--”
“Squash!” sung out Johnny, lifting an empty plate again.
“Squash!” echoed number four.
“Squash!” chimed in number five.
Teddy saw three uplifted plates and ceased to wonder at the enormous
provision. Without a murmur Mrs. York plied the big iron spoon once
more, and the youngsters again set to work.
“And to think that girl should turn out so well after all,” said Mrs.
York. “She was the most harum scarum thing I ever saw when she was a
young girl.”
“Ah, we must never judge by appearances,” sighed Mr. York. “That’s
what I tell Mason when I have my bad spells come on. ‘York,’ he says,
‘don’t be a fool. You’re tough enough if you only keep to work. You’re
as strong and healthy a looking man as I am.’ Ah, he little knows what
a sinking there is my stomach and how weak I get, and don’t have the
least bit of appetite. Ah, I’m slowly but surely fading away, fading
away.”
“Don’t, father, don’t talk so. You make me feel miserable,” said Mrs.
York, laying down her knife and looking at the sufferer with real
distress in her face.
“Well, I won’t,” sighed York, taking up his knife and fork, and dashing
at his plate with vigor. “I know its wrong to distress you, but what
can a man do who feels the all-devouring worm continually crying--”
“Squash!” interrupted Johnny.
“No, sir, no more,” said Mrs. York, firmly. “Mercy sakes, do you want
to turn into a squash vine, and have squashes grow out all over you? No
more.”
Johnny said not a word, but pushed back his chair, grabbed his cap, and
slid out of the back door. The little Yorks who were on the point of
joining their petitions with that of their brother, awed by the stern
tone of their mother, or frightened at the probable result of too much
indulgence, dropped their plates and were silent. Teddy, having fully
appeased his appetite, thought of Spotty.
“I believe I must be goin’. Hadn’t ought to have stopped so long. Mr.
Small will be wanting his horse.”
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry, Teddy. Well, if you must go--come again,
we’ll be glad to see you any time, won’t we, father?”
“Yes, indeed; and your sister, too, and she shan’t be turned out of
doors, if she ever feels like bringing something nice to a poor sick
man,” said Mr. York.
“Don’t, father, speak of such a thing,” cried Jenny. “She’s done enough
for us. Don’t take such a message as that, Teddy, but tell her we all
love her dearly, and will never think of her but as the best girl in
Cleverly.”
“That’s so, Jenny. I knew folks would find out how clever she is,” said
Teddy, “and she’s my sister. Good by. I really must be going,” and
he started for the door. Outside he found Spotty impatiently pulling
at his tether, and jumping into the wagon he started off. As he drove
into the main street he found a group of men and boys discussing the
fire, and by their motions enacting the scene in which Becky had taken
a prominent part. Further on another group with the same subject under
consideration, and a third were on the steps of the church. As he
passed he could hear his sister’s name spoken by one and another. In
a cheerful spirit, with his hungry foe completely vanquished, it is
no wonder that Teddy’s heart glowed at the praises he heard, and felt
proud of its connection with the heroine of the day.
And Becky; how bore she her triumph? Quietly she entered the house and
took her place at her mother’s side.
“No more work to-day, mother, or for many days. The mill is burned to
the ground.”
“Nobody hurt, Becky?” with an anxious look, said the mother.
“No, all safe and sound. Nobody lost anything but Mr. Small.”
Aunt Hulda entered the room at that moment.
“What’s that, Becky? Where have you been? Dinner’s cold as a stone.”
“Jenny was very sick and I couldn’t leave her, and then the mill took
fire and burnt to the ground.”
“Mark Small’s mill burnt. You don’t mean it. Why, it will ruin him,”
gasped Aunt Hulda.
“Yes, I’m afraid he’s lost everything.”
“Oh dear, dear, dear! It’s the Lord’s doin’s and I ’spose we must be
resigned,” cried Aunt Hulda. “And Mark Small’s lost everything,” and
she sat down and rocked briskly, wringing her hands.
“Why, Aunt Hulda, what ails you? You’ll lose nothing. Come, give me my
dinner, I’m as hungry as a bear. I can’t wait; come along,” and Becky
seized Aunt Hulda by main force and dragged her to the kitchen. Not a
word about her adventure to Aunt Hulda, not a word to her mother on
her return. They were left in ignorance until Teddy puffing with haste
burst into the room. He ran at Becky and seized her in his arms.
“It’s all over town. I tell you, everybody’s talking about you. You’re
a heroine, Becky, and I’m your brother.”
“What on airth ails the boy?” shrieked Aunt Hulda. “Is he mad? What’s
Becky done now?”
“What has she done, Aunt Hulda? She dragged Jenny York up on the roof,
tore up the bags and let her down to the ground, when the building was
blazing like fury. D’ye hear that, mother? Our Becky did it. Ain’t you
proud of her? I am.”
Becky freed herself from Teddy’s embrace, wondering what could
have started him to such a proceeding, he always so cool and
undemonstrative. She looked at her mother. The face of the invalid was
flushed, the lips moved yet no words escaped them, but in the eyes
Becky read the rich reward, “Well done, daughter.” She ran to her
mother’s side and put her arms about her neck.
“Poor Jenny York, mother, she must have died without me. Thank Heaven,
I was there, mother. Thank Him that I knew how to save her.”